Follicle

i.

"You're sure about your choice, then?" asked Dr. Fangor, preparing the syringe that would begin the procedure to give Beverly her new hair. "Last chance."

"Absolutely. I like being blonde, but the added wave will be nice. I mean, as long as I have the chance to have what I always wanted, why not take it? Never mind that I sound like a blue-hair at the beauty salon," answered Beverly, rolling her eyes.

"Yes," answered Carmen, "but it's not really the same thing. This is about... well, your life, really. Besides, it will only be about an inch and a half long to begin with, so it will seem much curlier than what you are imagining, at least at first. You'll have to do the work of making it look the way you want."

"You mean I'll be kinky, Carmen?" Beverly shot back, laughing nervously.

Carmen laughed with her as she swabbed Beverly's naked butt cheek with alcohol. "Well, that's certainly one way to put it.

"Just relax, now. I'm going to give you a shot of demerol and morphine. It's not enough to put you under, but you'll be pretty much out of it by the time you get to surgery. We don't want to put you completely out until we're ready to start."

Beverly winced slightly as the shot was delivered. "Amy will be here for you in about forty-five minutes," continued Carmen, as she placed the empty syringe in the "used sharps" container. "By that time, you'll likely be having a very good time. You won't have a worry in the world."

"Okay, Frau Fangor!" quipped Beverly.

"Now, now. I know you're not feeling it yet. I'll see you in a little bit. By the way, your agent came by to keep you company. Shall I send her in on my way out?"

"Please."

Randii peeked around the corner and then came in. "You look pretty alive this morning, Bev," she said. "Better than I feel. I'm not used to six a.m."

"Neither am I, Randii... just nervous. Even with the fancy machinery, it's supposed to take several hours."

They talked for awhile... the usual banter about what was happening at the studio, album design ideas and scheduling, and then sat in silence for a bit as the tension finally took its toll.

Randii was the one who finally broke it. "You want a prayer or anything?"

"No, of course not. If you want, you can light a..." Beverly felt a wave of... something... pass through her. "candle..."

Her head felt rubbery and loose and the clock on the wall moved a little. And then the moment was gone. But it left a trace of itself, making Beverly feel a little more distant and silly.

"Umm. First bit of the doping up is happening," said Beverly.

"You okay?"

"Fine." Beverly answered, a little giddy. She giggled. "Fiiiiine. So fine. Like vintage wine. I want some more, Randii, where do I sign? On the dotted line?"

"Hmm. Maybe I'll need to get some of that, girl."

"Oh, I'm not that kind," laughed Beverly, as a newer, stronger wave of bouncy, blissful euphoria swept through her. She shook her head to clear it a bit.

"Wow, Randii. Make a note. Never let Bev near narcotics. I think I like this toooo much," she sighed, giving up the fight as the room began to take on an even more rubbery, dream-like quality.

She looked again at the wavy numbers on the wall clock. Only twenty-five minutes had passed. She didn't care. This was too fucking nice to care.

Randii was saying something, but Beverly was having a hard time concentrating. The voice was echoing and watery, and so she smiled and said "yes," and "uh huh," when it seemed like she should, and sighed more as she moved further and further away from reality.

She barely even noticed as they put her on the gurney.

She looked at Amy, and made out the girl's words as they entered her ears, flowing slowly into her brain. "Ready for your new 'glory'?" said the smiling, cute, incredible... floating ... alluring... young woman.

"Ready, Freddie, easy peasy," she slurred. She was still laughing at herself as Randii watched her leave the room.

Pulling her cell phone from her purse, the agent dialed a number and hit the "send" button. She waited, leaning against the wall, straightening only as the phone was answered. "Dr. Harrah? Randii Jenkins... yes, she's going in now.

"No, she's doing fine. Very happy, in fact.

"Of course. Oh, and Betsy, dear... Carmen Lesbos Domina."

Hesitating until she heard the proper response, she continued, "Mistress says to tell you She's very pleased."

Randii held the phone away from her ear and winced as cries of orgasmic ecstasy loudly sprang from the small speaker.

"Good girl. Now go. Obey. Serve. Mistress is life."

Randii closed the phone, smiled, and shivered as she ran her hand back through her long, red hair. She didn't need to cum. Working the plan for Mistress was more than pleasure, and simple orgasm could no longer measure up. At least, until Mistress says differently, she reflected.

Beverly watched as the ceiling went by. She couldn't tell if it was the ceiling or a strange wall with lights in it... or if she was leaning or flat. She just let it happen.

She felt everything spin, and heard doors bump open as her head fell sideways. She was so happy. She looked at the funny woman in the black rubber top that was staring at her. Yes. Rubbery. That's Nancy, she thought.. She watched as the woman circled her black shiny nipple through the... the... whatever it was, and smiled. Nancy was so happy, too.

She had the funniest thought that nurses shouldn't be wearing black and looking so horny. She felt hands placing things on her chest, and heard the beeping of the heart-thingy, and looked up into lights. There was a woman in a mask. Carmen. The hair said so. Said so. Said so.

"Welcome to my parlor, Beverly," said the black-masked Vampire-Lady. "You'll be feeling very sleepy in just a second."

Beverly felt her head falling backward and managed to slur, "Oh, I see what you..."

"Beverly."

"Beverly."

It slowly dawned on her that that voice meant her. She felt through her disorientation with her eyes closed and smelled the sanitary chemicals of... what?

She opened her eyes and the world spun. She started to sit up. She had to go to the bathroom.

There was something keeping her from moving. She watched the curiously slow realization of where she was break open. Recovery. The dull ache over her head enlightened her further and she smelled a light perfume drift through the odors of alcohol and industrial sanitizer. Someone is holding me down... she thought, as if it were a brilliant deduction.

"You need to lie still, Beverly," came the voice, speaking to her again.

No, thought Beverly, what I need, is to pee. But there was no moving, and she didn't have the strength or balance to assert herself. She relented and lay back, swallowing dryness.

"Beverly." The voice was more demanding now.

"Try not to move, sweetie. We're going to take you to your room now. Star treatment, and all that. You did fine. Your hair looks perfect. Do you need anything? Beverly. Do you need us to get you anything?"

Beverly tried to say, "A bathroom," but only managed a muffled sound that was more like a moan.

"Okay, hon. You'll probably fall asleep again, and when you wake up you'll be back in your own room. Just take it easy. Easy..."

The voice faded away as Beverly closed her eyes again.

The room was darkly lit when she opened them a moment later.

"Hello, sleepyhead," said Randii. "Five hours I've been waiting. You'd think I actually care what happens to you."

Beverly smiled, and Randii brought her a cup of water. Taking a drink, she finally felt something of humanity returning. Water. Fuck anything else. Give me water and I promise I'll be good, she said inwardly. "Thanks, Randii." She gave her agent a weak smile.

"The procedure lasted over six hours, and they're telling me I can't stay so that you can recoup. I'd hang around in defiance anyway, except they seem to be taking very good care of you. Better than I could."

"It's fine, Randii. I won't be much company tonight, I don't think." Beverly took another, longer drink of water.

"I thought I'd mention that Drew asked after you. Sends his thoughts for a speedy recovery. He says he still misses you."

"Oh, God. Look, it just didn't work. I wish you could see my side of things." Great, talk to me while I'm down, why dontcha?? she silently added.

"I do see your side, Bev. He's seeing someone, anyway. He asked me not to tell you, the creep. I promised I wouldn't... I'm sorry. This is a bad time. Forgive me?"

"Don't be silly -- nothing to forgive. He's a free agent and so am I, and so is she, I'd guess. He has my blessing, silly as it is... as if he needed it," said Beverly, smiling. Inside, though, it still stung. In fact, it stung to a surprising depth.

She realized suddenly that she had liked Drew's unrequited love for her. Well, chalk it up to another painful neurosis, she mused, wincing.

Impulsively, Randii leaned over and kissed Beverly on the forehead. It was a friendly gesture, but it sent a confusing shiver of arousal through Beverly. "I'll tell the creep. Get well, Beverly. I've got the studio booked and we need you back there," joked Randii. "You know..."

"Yeah, I know. If I need anything, you'll only charge half price."

"No... you've moved up to free status. See you around, kiddo."

She watched as Randii left the room and the door closed.

Now what the fuck is that all about? she thought, feeling the tingles of pleasure still bouncing around inside her, mixing strangely with the thought of really, truly losing Drew, almost making her like the idea. Before she could think more about it, a wave of dizzy sleepiness washed over her. Must be the frigging anesthetic, she thought briefly, before falling into a deep, undisturbed sleep.

"Wake up, sleepyhead!" Carmen was smiling at the side of the bed. "No rest for the wicked! It's time to begin your follicle activation. Have some breakfast, and then Amy will wheel you down to the examination room, okay?

"And I guess it's about time you saw the damage." Carmen reached into her lab coat and pulled out a small hand mirror. "Would you like me to stay or go while you take a look?"

"if it's okay, I think I'd like to be alone, Carmen."

"You bet. Just call for me if you need me. I'll be close by for a few more minutes."

Beverly sat, her eyes closed in anticipation and fear, gathering her nerve so that she could sate her curiosity. Steeling herself as best she could, she opened her eyes and picked up the hand mirror that Carmen had left.

A sob escaped her as she looked at the unfamiliar face in front of her. It had only been a year, but her mental picture of herself had gradually changed and there was no getting around the shock of seeing herself look her age again.

Curly and short, her new hair covered her head in an unruly mess. She had forgotten how delightful it was, and she felt like a child, wanting to play with it, bunch it, stroke it, brush it... it captivated her. The feelings rushed into her faster than she could process them, and she cried, both for joy, and in the release of the depression that was so much a part of her that she hadn't even known it was there.

It was one of the more joyous moments in her recent life.

It was time for breakfast.

ii.

"Welcome," said Carmen. "This is what we call our 'Frankenstein's Lab'. It's where was do the real magic of getting your new hair to grow. Whenever you're ready, climb up into the chair. Take all the time you need."

Beverly looked at the chair as she stepped forward. It was like a dentist's chair, with a quilted leather seat and arm rests, but the headrest had two arching, roundish half-inch glassy tubes, like "antennae" that reached up and forward from behind. Once she sat down, it all made a bit more sense. The "antennae" hinged forward so that they arched over her head and ended just below her eyes. One sat about three inches away from her head, the other a little farther out.

"As I explained before, the hair we've implanted is mostly dormant. The follicles haven't really begun to do their work, so at this point, you could say we've given you little more than an expensive wig," explained Carmen, as she positioned Beverly's head and set several armatures to hold it immobile.

"What we're doing now is bringing them 'to life', if you want to think of it that way. We use electromagnetic fields and a slight irradiation to accelerate that process. You may find that your thoughts are hard to collect, or you may become disoriented, even profoundly so. It's generally not been uncomfortable for anyone, just mildly amusing, or confusing, and it will pass fairly soon after we finish the procedure.

"But after, as the follicles begin to bond as living tissue, you'll experience anything from tingling to a fairly intense itch over the next few weeks. It will peak in just a day, maybe two, but it's probably the most unfortunate part of the process. By the second or third day, it will be easily manageable. We, of course, will do anything we can to make that process more comfortable.

"I know I've told you all this before, but reminding does seem to help. Are you ready, Beverly?"

Beverly took a deep breath and blew it out. "As I'll ever be," she answered. She gripped the armrests involuntarily as a nervous shiver of trepidation passed through her.

"Just relax. Whatever you think or feel, it won't hurt at all," assured Carmen, as she walked behind a windowed, protective wall and turned the lights down.

Beverly tensed a bit more as she felt and heard the hum of the large machines. The little antennae began to slowly move back and forth over her head, crossing in the middle and arcing sideways down nearly to her shoulders.

They began to glow brightly underneath with a kind of blueish tinged light, and the effect reminded her of windshield wipers moving back and forth through her field of vision, smearing blue across it. "How odd," she commented.

"That's the EM effect," said Carmen, knowing exactly what the young singer was experiencing.

"You mean it's not just bright lights in the dark?"

"No, and it will become more pronounced. Just do your best to hold still."

As if the words had caused it, Beverly saw that the blue "after image" was taking longer and longer to dissipate, as if it were painting translucent watercolor over her vision. The door and other equipment in the room were beginning to look like they had been fingerpainted onto a powder-blue sheet of paper. She realized she was losing her depth perception.

"You're sure this isn't permanent aren't you, Carmen?" Someone was mumbling nonsense. She realized with a vague shock that it was her own voice.

"I'm really afraid I'll have to ask you not to talk, Beverly. Your speech centers are being affected, and logic, too. You might as well relax and enjoy the ride. Don't worry, the effect will fade when we're done, after a time," Carmen reassured.

After time-a-time-a-time-time-time. Great. Relaxo boraxo. Beverly watched as her thoughts flew out of her brain and into the pit of her stomach. She felt very full, suddenly. She would have worried about the weirdness of it, except her cognizance was fast becoming more like a distant dream she was watching. She realized with fading awareness the she was totally out of it, and going farther.

Carmen was speaking to her, but she couldn't understand the bluedoctor's bluevoice. She was only... Blue. Blue my love is blue bayou true blue blue is the color of my true love's hair kablooie cat ballouuuuu cat ballouuuuu my bluetiful balloooooon...

Beverly arched in unexpected pleasure and induced orgasm, her eyes wide and insanely dilated, as the stimulated hair asserted itself, tendrils reaching through the nearly microscopic holes that had been carefully laser drilled through her skull during the surgery. They weren't necessary... but combined with the EM radiation, they took what was nearly a year-long process down to a matter of a few short hours.

Carmen, as always, was quite taken by the slack-jawed, blank face and eyes contrasted against the contorting body of her subject.

She smiled and spoke calm affirmations to the convulsing woman, her cunt covered in a sheen of aroused dew as the monitor before her showed spots of red, slowly swelling and intersecting through the beautiful singers' brain. The changes would seal in, and the mind would adjust within a few days, and Beverly would feel normal again.

It just so happened that what normal was would be changed. Very much so. Permanently.

Seeing it happening is always so much better, thought Carmen, as she dipped her finger to her wetness and brought the glistening finger up to touch the tip of her pointed tongue.

She shook her head and let the pleasure wash through her... again.

A green light came on beside the monitor. Carmen smiled and leaned over to a microphone, and began to speak the mantra she had long since memorized. Her voice gently flowed from speakers hidden in the structure of the activation chair.

"My name is Beverly Nicole Whalen. I am twenty-six years old. I work as a singer and songwriter. I am the sole property of Doctor Carmen Agnes Fangor. I am whoever and whatever pleases Her. It is completely natural. It is completely normal. It has always been. Any inconsistencies are simply my inability to remember the true past. It is so simple. I think of Her and know Her and address Her only as Mistress. Her name is holier than I am worthy to speak, without Her permission. Her Life is my life. Her Will is my will. Her Desire is my desire. Her Voice is my guide. Her Pleasure is my highest purpose... Her softest Whisper, my obsession..."

Beverly only arched her back further and moaned loudly.

iii.

"Hi, this is Randii Jenkins' voice, speaking to you from Messageland, where all good things come to those who leave their name and number at the sound of the A flat."

Beverly waited for the beep.

"Randii, where the crap are you? How come you're not returning my calls? I'm still at the Clinic, but will be leaving in a week or so, as soon as... it's okay. I need to talk to you, okay? Thanks. Now call, dammit!"

Beverly resisted scratching her head. The itch had pretty much died down, but until today they'd had to keep her restrained from time to time, and constantly sedated. The restraints were for "automatic scratching" in her sleep, and the sedation was to keep the itching from driving her crazy.

But that wasn't the part that worried her.

It was what happened when she would sneak a scratch during the day when no one was looking. At first she thought she must be imagining it, but there was no doubt about it now. The movement of her hair felt like someone was licking her pussy with a vibrating tongue. That was distracting enough, but...

It was also the most intense, pure pleasure she'd ever known. Unbelievably strong. It was like the difference between a used bicycle and a Rolls Royce. She could feel her clit pulsing inside every molecule of her body... and she was finding that she was getting addicted to it.

She would have mentioned it, except she was afraid if she did, it would get fixed. And that, she decided very quickly, would be a shame. She could just wait a little longer until it got to be a nuisance. Then she would tell them about it.

Tell Mistress about cumming in bed every night just by rubbing her head on her pillow. Mistress. The name had come up as a funny joke when they restrained her hands, but now, she was finding she liked it. It just seemed to fit the brilliant woman so well. In fact, she never even thought of her as Carmen anymore. She shook her head and felt a ripple of mind-burning lust move through her. Mistress.

That was another weird thing. She kept thinking about Mistress, about Amy, about Randii and even Betsy, her personal physician. It seemed like thinking about them made the hair thing even stronger. And the new, foreign passions only excited her more.

She would have to tell someone soon.

But not quite yet. Tomorrow maybe. Or maybe next week.

She smiled, thinking about it, rubbing her hair on her pillow again. Maybe not at all...

Amy smiled happily as she pushed Beverly down the hallway to the door that led to the courtyard. A wheelchair wasn't necessary, but it was a nice touch, and a wonderful gift for her charge who had done so well and would be leaving soon.

The door opened and the wind blew through Beverly's growing hair. Amy smiled softly as she heard the heated moan escape the woman's lips, unable to stop the seductive sensation. She had worked very hard to pretend she didn't see what was happening to Beverly over the last two weeks, and she was glad that time was coming to an end.

"Are you okay, Beverly?" she asked, concern coating her voice.

"Ummm yeah... ungh... yeah..." stammered Beverly, obviously aroused beyond her ability to hide it.

Amy reached forward and ran the fingers of one hand back through Beverly's hair. She nearly came herself as the woman's back arched and her passion screamed out in a wordless spasm of impassioned pleasure.

"Mmm, Beverly, it's even more amazing when someone else touches it... just like sex... only better... isn't it."

"God yessssss..." moaned Beverly, her mind shocked blindly into soul-consuming passion by the blast of heat and pleasure that tore through her body in a hurricane of voracious lust.

"This is how you always dreamed it would be. Isn't it."

Beverly stiffened as the conflict rose in her. She was aroused beyond anything she'd ever felt... it was craving like a junkie for heroin... or more... but she knew she'd never wanted... a woman... she'd always wanted the... other sex... other... what is it called? I've always wanted... oh yes... a WOMAN... not a... uh... oh, fuck...

She felt the connections in her mind snapping loose, one after the other, as the dominoes fell and laid her mind open, a gorge to be shaped by the waters of... Mistress... yessss... that's it.... Mistress...

Amy watched Beverly fight. She was honored by such a noble effort, even though it was in vain. The young, mindfucked nurse couldn't help writhing in her clothes herself, knowing the inevitable outcome. This was Mistress's particular delicious torture, this riding of the conflict, like a rogue lover, making even the grinding confusion an instrument of even greater surrender and pleasure.

Finally, Amy stepped in front of Beverly, knelt and held the drooling woman's face in her hands, and looked into the wild, desperate eyes that were, now, so much like her own. "Shhhh Beverly. Obey. Shhhh. Look at me. Look at my eyes. Amy will help. Amy will make it better for you. Obey."

Beverly slowly stopped struggling, and stared into the soft eyes of the young nymphet kneeling before her. Her wide, dilated eyes were still like that of a wild animal, a look of fear and heated arousal mixing in front of a delicious backdrop of ultimate surrender.

"Pluribus Lesbos Eternum, Beverly."

"Amor Lesbos," came her whispered response, her face transfigured into elegant, glowing passion, her lips wet with aroused moisture.

Amy watched as Beverly shuddered, and then became still. Sure that the artist would be quiet now, she walked to the intercom beside the door. She looked upon Beverly lovingly, licking her lips in hot, irristible desire before touching the call button. "Mistress?"

"Yes, sweetcunt?"

"The new slut has awakened."

"Very good. Bring her to Me. I have some new and wonderful things to tell her. And you both have wonderful tales to tell Me with your... obedient... tongues."

Amy worked to keep her knees from buckling and her voice from crying out as Mistress's pleasure swept through her, more powerful than even the follicles could provide. It lasted only seconds, but an eternity in Amy's mind.

"Yes, Mistress. sweetcunt obeys."

"And think of a true-name for our new beauty, on your way here."

"Thank You for the honor Mistress! I already have..."

"And it is...?"

"yonigirl."

"Very good, precious one. yonigirl will do nicely."

Walking back to the now catatonic Beverly, Amy said casually, "I know what's happening to you, Beverly. I wish more than anything I could go through it all over again... feeling the realizations unfold, destiny come alive, all of the Will of Mistress suddenly springing into my mind and wiping away the old, useless, evil thoughts and beliefs. Purge, my love, purge and be reborn, as we all have been... all will be... within the Perfect Mind of Mistress."

Inside the shell of her body, her flesh container, Beverly was driving herself more into insane, orgasmic, obsessed devotion with every accepted command, and screaming in bottomless anguish with every struggle to retain her past beliefs... a hundred years of instant torture turning her mind into putty, clay to be molded by Mistress, Mistress and Her Touch upon Beverly's hair... bringing her back to the pleasure again... to accept... knowing, perfectly, that there was no other road to travel.

This was her life. This was her Way.

She, Beverly Nicole Whalen, belonged to... and would belong to... Mistress.

Forever.